"Sure glad he isn't coming my way, George. I'd end up feeding him to his own hogs."
"Annoying man. I wonder where he came from?"
Rob said, "Must be out of Carlisle. He has seen me before, and that is about the only village where I'm known. I reckon they will really miss him. Their loss is your gain, George."
George groaned, "Maybe he'll keep going until he finds those Indians he is so hungry to get at."
"Well, that would take care of him once and for all, that's sure. Most any old squaw would do Shcenk in without breaking stride.
Shcenk had not gone far. On his way out, Rob saw him chopping less than a half-mile up the creek.
Two days later, the creek turned muddy and wouldn't seem to clear. Thomas Robinson hiked up to find the cause. He wasn't gone long.
"Back already, Thomas?"
"Didn't have to go far, George. It was that Shcenk. He'd fenced his hogs into the creek. They were making a real wallow of it.
"You talk with him?"
"Yep, told him to get his hogs out and keep them out or we'd serve them up for breakfast."
"He listen?"
"Nope! Stubborn cuss, that Shcenk. Said he'd do like he pleased whether we liked it or not."
"Well, how did you settle it?"
"Why George, far as I know there is only one way of settling with Shcenk. I threw him in the creek, of course."
Thomas grinned, "Then I kicked his fence down and roused those hogs into the woods. Likely Shcenk will get the idea. And if he doesn't, well, the crick will still be right handy."
Chapter 14
The deaths of the three whites on the Juniata added vigor to the stockade building. Rob Shatto's explanation of Long Knife's justice ended fears of immediate attack, but it seemed plain enough that if Indian trouble developed, they would need a place to go and they would need it quick.
Stockade building was not awfully difficult if enough men joined in; it was resented because it took time away from cabin building and field clearing. Some cabins were up, but there wasn't a chimney among them. They were just four walls, perhaps a loft, and a bark roof. Chimney building took time, and many Robinsons expected to go through the first winter with just a smoke hole in the roof or cooking outside, like they did in these warm months.
Of course, there was one exception. Robert was building a chimney. He had no cabin to hook onto it, but he was right in saying a cabin should be put up around a proper fireplace.
Living with George or James, he could take time to do it that way. The rest of them needed shelter right off. Comforts could come later.
George laid the stockade work out in parts. There were diggers, choppers, and raisers. The men divided themselves with most shifting around as help was needed or as they tired of a particular task.
The first job was digging the ditch to the marking stakes George put out. The blockhouse was left as one corner. It would protrude beyond the line of the stockade wall and allow defenders to fire at attackers along the wall.
They planned a main entrance looking toward the path and a small door at the rear that would allow quick access to the spring.
They agreed that sixty feet to a side would allow enough room, but nobody complained when George went a full seventy. By then, most were resigned to doing the job and were willing to do it right.
The ditch went down with men working together amid laughter and good companionship, but making blockhouse the logs was more lonesome and walls work. The men split into two-man teams that dropped a tree, trimmed it, and cut it to length. When a horse was available, they snaked their logs to the stockade site.
George had them working against the woods that were close around the fort so their fields of fire would be deeper. They made jokes that if George could keep a good Indian scare going he would have all his fields cleared for free, but he was right in doing it this way.
George did insist on keeping the stumps low, and that caused grumbling. Some men knelt to chop while others bent uncomfortably as they chopped or sawed, and the trees came down slower than they would have at a good working height.
George was right again, though; hip high stumps would leave too much protection for lurking hostiles. The men left as little stump as they could.
The most valued tools in the settlement were three log saws. They were two-man affairs with "M" shaped teeth. They had been handed around for cutting logs to length when raising cabins, but now the saws were used to drop trees in record time. The men chopped a handy notch to direct the fall of the tree. A saw cut quickly through the off side and down the tree came. That beat trying to chop clean through close to ground level.
The saws proved especially good on bigger trees that weren't of much use in stockade building but that could not be left to provide enemy cover. The saws required regular sharpening, but when in use, they took down trees at a mighty rate.
Nobody cared much about the top of the stockade being even and handsome. James claimed it was better uneven and jagged, as defenders' heads would not show so clearly above it.
They stood sixteen-foot logs on end in their four-foot deep trench and shoveled and tamped the ground back in around them. The twelve-foot high wall was impressive looking, but any of the younger men could take a run at it, hit hard with one foot, and get a grip on the top. A little thrashing and they were over. The builders ended that by slanting another ditch outside the wall that increased the height a few feet and prevented getting a good running start.
The walls went up quickly. Thomas claimed it looked as strong as Jericho, but George confided that he was thankful the Indians didn't have those famous trumpets.
Laughter came easily when the work showed rapid progress, but when the less dramatic task of erecting a firing step six feet high all the way around the inside came along, interest flagged, and the crews became small and didn't get as much done. Martha Robinson became a camp scold getting men to work at the stockade, but George was beginning to wonder if they would ever finish it.
Ephraim Shcenk hadn't helped a lick. Shcenk and his hogs had settled in a chestnut grove off to the west. He had worked at putting up a mean cabin of small poles covered with bark and a sort of lean-to shelter for his hogs. The hogs ran wild during daylight but returned at dusk to huddle close while Shcenk cursed the wolves that howled on the ridges.
They had invited Shcenk to help, of course. He had declared it a waste of time and bragged how he would handle any hostiles that came at his place. Schenk had come over for a look, but he had just stood around the first time. The second visit had been to accuse the Robinsons in general of stealing a hog that had disappeared. If he had amounted to more, the men might have harmed him for such a serious accusation, but with Shcenk, they just made comments among themselves about the pork they had cured and the hams they were smoking. Shcenk left in a rage and stayed away. One morning Shcenk appeared, ax in hand, and joined the work with a vigor that was astonishing. He was first to grab a log end, he was quick to drive a peg, and his admiration of the work already accomplished was loud and constant.
The Robinsons listened and wondered. George asked about Shcenk's change of heart, but the little man just said he'd been busy till now and ducked back to work. They couldn't figure it.
Toward noon Alex Logan galloped in. His horse was lathered, and his eyes were excited. A rider had come through heading for his own home far north on the Loyalsock Creek. He had told of Braddock's force being slaughtered along the Monongahela River. Braddock was dead, and the whole army was fleeing. Alex had been busy warning his own people, but he had met Shcenk hunting a lost hog and told him to bring word to the Robinsons.
As Logan talked, the silence got heavy. A man rumbled deep in his chest and started for Ephraim Shcenk. Shcenk squealed, backing into a corner and holding his ax threateningly. George spoke softly to the other men, and they left Shcenk until later.
Logan had few details. The story went that Braddock had let his army get picked off by French and Indians hiding in the
woods. Finally the British had tried to withdraw and that turned into a rout, leaving dead and wounded for miles. The Robinsons listened grimly, and George saw eyes turning regularly toward the dark and suddenly dangerous wood line. Alex rode on to warn people along Sherman's Creek, and the Robinsons huddled-up for instructions.
"All right, it looks as though trouble might be coming this way. I figure we've got at least a little time. Them Indians will be busy cleaning up that army, and then it will take a while for word to get around that the English got whipped. We've got time to get ready, but we had better do it right.
"Those of us here will scatter and spread the word. What we will do first is get everybody in here before dark. Tell them to bring their guns, blankets, and food. That's in case they have to stay awhile. Once we are all here, we'll decide what we are going to do."
The men disappeared along the trail and up the draws. Robert and James were off hunting, but they could be expected about dark. George walked around the stockade seeing it suddenly crude and unfinished. There was a pile of work to be done, and he could only hope they had the time.
Could be they should just pack up and pull back until they could see if there really was an Indian menace. Perhaps the entire story was a rumor or a hoax. They would look pretty foolish panicking off to Manada over a tall story with no facts to it at all.
A small sound startled him, and he peered around a corner to see Ephraim Shcenk picking among the tools left where they had fallen. The hog farmer found a sharpening stone to his liking and was depositing it in his pouch when he heard George coming.
His servile smile belied his actions, "Why there you be, George. Jest thought I'd borrow this here stone an' sharpen my blades a little. Man'll need good edges with Injun trouble comin' on."
"Put the stone back, Shcenk."
Acting surprised and injured, Shcenk said, "Well I only planned on usin' it a little, George."
"Shcenk, why didn't you tell us about Braddock?"
"Well now, George, I figured it was all just a story, not talk worth bearin', you know." His ingratiating smile made George all the madder.
"You would have saved us a lot of hours, Shcenk. By now we'd have been organized and ready. Instead our people are scattered over hell's half acre."
"Now, George, don't go getting provoked. Probably nothin's goin' to happen anyhow."
Thoroughly exasperated, George started for the man, "Shcenk . . ."
Turning with a squeal, Shcenk tore down the bluff as though a dozen scalp hunters were chasing him. He hit the creek full out, disappeared in the shallow water, and emerged dripping on the other side. Still mad, George turned away. He had plans to make, and what he decided could matter a lot right now.
— — —
It was dark before the last men returned. Some had hurried over without a supper meal, and Robert and James had just come in.
Martha and Agnes stirred coals into new heat and put venison frying in large pans propped on stones. Another half-dozen women with as many children had arrived, and they hustled about getting settled for the night before joining Martha and Agnes at the cooking.
Clutching their guns, the men gathered in small groups that changed size as men sought other views or a different audience. Occasionally, voices grew loud, but for the most part men talked softly as though the surrounding woods might hear.
Some Robinsons wandered about the fort restudying their preparations. Most were far from satisfied. What had yesterday looked like real progress, under the threat of attack appeared woefully incomplete. There was no door at the wagon-wide main entrance, and the two men assigned that project grew uncomfortable, knowing they had put it off too long.
George called them together down among the big trees at the spring. They sat around on old logs and against tree boles. Some squatted to pick at the ground, and a few just leaned against a tree.
George took a place by the spring, slightly below most, where he could move around and face everybody. The women shushed the children so they could hear from further away, and George started in.
"By now you've all heard the news. So far, it's just the story of one scared rider. Could be there is nothing to it or that it isn't near as bad as it sounds." He paused to shift ground a little and let them think a moment.
"However, we can't just sit around hoping things are good. My own feeling is that Braddock has taken a licking and if that is the case, there isn't anything standing between us and all the Indians there are in these parts."
He hastened to add, "Now that don't mean to say the tribes are all sharpening their knives and licking their lips. No doubt most of them will stay true to their treaties, but that might not mean all of them, and it sure won't include whatever bunch helped the French whip Braddock.
"Now, it's hard to believe those hostiles won't be feeling their oats after beating back a whole English army. It's just as true we can't know if they will come this way, but there are things we do know.
"We know we're sticking out in front of most others, and that might prove inviting.
"We know we're along one of about three main paths leading through these mountains, so that makes us likely.
"Then there is the idea that there are enough of us to make a worthwhile raid. We will look more tempting than say one poor cabin without enough goods inside it to bother with." He rested his thoughts to greet a trio of Logans coming in.
Despite the warmth of the night, Robert and James stacked kindling between George and the rest and dumped hot coals from the cook fire on it. Pitchy wood caught and flames rose to cast eerie shadows among the trees, but there was security and comfort in having a fire, and it helped to see George's face when he was talking.
The Logans had come in to learn the Robinsons' plans. If Indians came down on them, they figured to cut into the woods and filter down to the fort when they could.
Alexander Logan's cabin stood furthest west on the trail, and the rest of the Logans expected they would get their warning from Alex-although who could tell about Indians.
George was ready to continue. He stepped into the fire glow, a strong man in his prime, fit and ready to lead. His certainty fed courage and direction to his people. His booted feet firmly planted, his rugged body squarely balanced, his chin slightly raised to view them straight on let them know that George Robinson was not planning to pack his goods and watch from the far side of Kittatinny Mountain. He had come to stay, and so had the others. Fists tightened around musket barrels, and men shrugged tightness from their ax-strengthened shoulders.
"All right now, we're here to come up with plans for, let's say the next week or two. By then we will know better where we stand, and we can meet again." He saw Ephraim Shcenk at the rear of the gathering.
"First thing, I'll have Robert and James out scouting north and west of here. They will be our best chance of knowing if there are Indians about.
"Next, I'll expect every man to be here every day for full days of work until we've got this fort finished."
He wanted to go on with his planning, but something needed saying right off as clear as he could make it.
"Let's all know one thing right now, and let's not have it coming up later on. There isn't any way a family can hold out against Indians by staying in their cabin.
"If you had a whole band of men in there shooting out and women for the loading, it might be different, but with just a gun or two or three, there is no way of lasting. Even a little thought can show you how they could fire your blind side or touch off your roof. At best you would tire out, and they would get you when you weren't ready. So let's not have any tomfoolery about not forting up here if trouble comes.
"While we are finishing the fort, I'm suggesting that everybody stays close. If we are attacked, there might not be time to go out and bring people in.
"The cabins and fields will have to wait. We can bring in the cows that need milking and Shcenk can scatter his hogs. Now, I'm hoping just as you that all this proves wasted effort, but we
can't chance waiting it out.
"Come morning, Thomas will be around to make a survey of what we've got for guns, powder, and ball. We'll see how we stand on provisions and figure out how we will hunt and fish and generally get organized.
"For tonight, Robert and James will be out making sure things are quiet, but everybody keep his gun to hand and be ready to muster if a call goes out.
"When light comes into this valley I expect everybody to be fed, watered, and relieved so we can get started without people straggling around.
"Anybody got any questions or suggestions that need going over?"
A man asked, "Aren't we going to send word back to Manada and maybe find out from them about how things are?"
George answered, "I figure to wait on that. First off, they will get word quick enough from along the south trail that comes through York, and they will probably get a straighter story than we have. Of course, they are not in much danger back there, so we don't need to worry about them. Once we work out a list of anything we are seriously short of, we'll send back for it. My own guess is they will know more than we will and they'll be sending us word."
There was nothing more, and they broke up, talking their way to wagons grouped outside or crude tents within the stockade. James doused the fire with a hatful of water from the stream while George and Robert discussed the night's scouting.
Robert thought they should just go out away from the camp noise and keep listening. If Indians came they would have a chance of hearing them, and they wouldn't get all worn out for tomorrow when they would have to be scouting around most of the time.
George saw them off, wondering that Robert should prove the most valuable among them and that James, who was only a year in the family, should be the next most woods skilled. He wished Rob Shatto or Blue Moccasin would come in. They would know the truth about things.
Of course, Shatto might by lying dead along Braddock's road for all they knew. George felt dangerously ignorant of Indians and their ways. He was a farmer and maybe a bit of a trader trying to act as colonel. He doubted he was doing it right, but he didn't see anyone around that would do better.
Fort Robinson (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series) Page 14